On the Death of our Father

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Shortly after my birth,

my father held me in his arms

to quiet my restlessness,

and recently

I held him in my arms

to quiet his restlessness;

and, as I sat there in silence with him,

he coughed up one final gift;

the thought that we have grown beyond

just a father son relationship,

that we had a mutual respect and

had become the best of friends.



December 1, 2002

 
Author's note:  I wrote this poem on the morning of the funeral.  I was not trying to write a poem about my father's death at all; in fact, I had just planned to sit there at the grave site with my mother while my brother gave the Eulogy.  However, once I awoke that morning, I did so with a strong desire to put some thoughts down on paper, not to read but just for myself and those words above flowed out of me.  I showed what I had written to my wife who made a point of letting everyone know that I wanted to read this poem at the grave site.  It was not a time to argue but a time to say goodbye, so I read my poem.  I misplaced the poem after that and just recently discovered it again and decided to share it here.